


like a fine wine (you get better with age)

by bilexualclarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Read at Your Own Risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: “Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” Clarke calls as she rolls down the window. Bellamy laughs and hops into the passenger side.“What happened to getting home at the same time as me?” he asks, leaning in for a kiss. “Hi.”“No traffic and I drove fast.” Clarke pulls him in for another kiss. “Hi. Happy Birthday.”or, the one where Bellamy is really fucking hot and Clarke can't handle it





	like a fine wine (you get better with age)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissMarissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarissa/gifts).



> happy belated birthday [@missemarissa!](http://missemarissa.tumblr.com/)you're an amazing writer and an even better person, and I am honored to call you my friend. 
> 
> be warned, kids: this fic contains daddy kink. don't like it? don't read it. 
> 
> (tentative sequel to [daddy af](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10544884), but you don't need to read that one to understand this.)

“Have a good day, Professor.”

 

Bellamy lifts his head up from the stack of essays he had been collecting and waves at the student as she leaves the lecture hall. 

 

“You too, Madi.” 

 

Once the room is empty he tucks his belongings into his worn black messenger bag, flips off the lights, and heads out the door. The class usually ends at seven thirty, his latest one of the week, but he had let everyone leave at six forty-five. There was still an hour or so of sunlight left, and with two weeks left of classes before summer break, he figured the students could use the free time. And so could he. It was his birthday, after all. 

 

It’s only a ten minute drive from the small two-bedroom cottage he rents outside of the town to Arkadia University’s main campus, but he’s on foot today, so he figures he’ll be home around seven thirty. Clarke’s brakes had gone out when she was driving home last night- thankfully she was in their neighborhood and not flying down the highway- so she took his car to work today while hers was in their friend Raven’s extremely capable hands. 

 

As he walks, he fishes his phone and earbuds out of his bag. He settles on a Hozier playlist then taps out a quick message to Clarke. 

 

**On my way home now. Are you still not telling me where we’re going tonight?**

 

She had promised- no,  _ insisted _ \- that she was taking him out for a fancy dinner tonight, but refuses to tell him where.

 

**Not a chance!** She writes back immediately.  **I’ll probably get home the same time as you. Leaving now. Love you.**

 

Clarke has been working as an art therapist at Mount Weather Memorial Hospital for about two years. It’s about twenty minutes away from their home, pays surprisingly well, and Clarke was just contacted by her supervisor about participating in a nation-wide study on art therapy for children with behavioral problems. It’s her dream job and listening to her talk about it every day with such palpable passion just makes Bellamy fall in love with her a little bit more. 

 

About two miles outside of campus, Bellamy hears a car pull up alongside him. He takes a few steps away from the road and turns around, prepared for whatever type of asshole might have something to say to him, then he sees the familiar dark green hue of his Jeep. 

 

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” Clarke calls as she rolls down the window. Bellamy laughs and hops into the passenger side. 

 

“What happened to getting home at the same time as me?” he asks, leaning in for a kiss. “Hi.”

 

“No traffic and I drove fast.” Clarke pulls him in for another kiss. “Hi. Happy Birthday.”

 

“You’ve said that already today. Like ten times.”

 

“I have to say it thirty times, one for every year you’ve been alive,” Clarke says as she pulls back onto the road. “Them’s the rules.”

 

When they arrive home Bellamy tries again. 

 

“So, do I need to wear anything specific for my mysterious night out?” 

 

Clarke gives him a once-over as they walk up the driveway then goes back to finish typing the message on her phone. “Nope, you’re good.” 

 

He’s in one of his usual work outfits: black slacks and a light blue button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his favorite watch on his left wrist. It’s one of his favorite outfits. The blue of his shirt matches Clarke’s eyes. It’s on the fancier side of casual, which means wherever they’re going is nice but not  _ dinner with Clarke’s rich mom _ -nice, which is a relief. 

 

He unlocks the door and immediately crouches down, ready to receive Hera, their three-year-old golden retriever who holds the title of World’s Best Greeter. She runs into his arms and covers his face with slobbery kisses before jumping up on Clarke. 

 

“Hi, pretty girl,” she coos, scratching her behind her ears. “We missed you so much! Yes we did!”

 

“Let’s go get you some dinner, girl,” Bellamy says. He stands up and starts towards the kitchen, Hera trotting off in front of him, eager for her meal. He takes two steps into the living room and then jumps back in shock at the sight of all their friends.

 

“ _ SURPRISE! _ ” they scream. 

 

Clarke runs up behind Bellamy and throws her arms around him. “Gotcha!” She nuzzles into his side, staring up at his dumbfounded expression with amusement. “Happy birthday!”

 

“Jesus,” Bellamy says, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Holy shit. Thanks, guys. You really got me.”

 

“Nearly gave the old man a heart attack!” Raven cackles from where she is perched on the arm of their couch. Octavia appears at his other side and squeezes him in a tight hug.

 

“Happy birthday, big brother!” she yells. “Now let’s get this party started!”

* * *

Clarke stays to the side throughout the party, nursing her glass of wine and letting Bellamy mess around with his friends. They’ve known each other for over a decade, ever since they were paired together for a project in their Greco-Roman Art class junior year of college. She’s just as attracted to him now as she was then- perhaps even more so. His glasses have a permanent place on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks adorned with scruff. Every time she wraps her arms around him it feels like his shoulders have gotten broader, his grip around his has gotten stronger.

 

In short, Bellamy Blake is still a motherfucking  _ snack _ . 

 

The thought doesn’t leave her mind all night. She’s thinking about him as they open presents and cut the cake, as Miller tries to rally everyone into drunken karaoke, and as Octavia insists that her and Roan officially determine which one of them is the better fighter. (Lincoln ends up throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her to the car, effectively signaling the end of the night.) The thought is driving her crazy, so when the door finally shuts behind Monty and Miller, she seizes her chance. 

 

She finds him in the living room, already cleaning up after everyone. 

 

“Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs demurely, sliding up to his side and nuzzling her nose along his neck. “Baby…”

 

“I’m here,” Bellamy responds, immediately putting down the pile of plates and wrapping his arms around her. “What do you need, sweet thing?”

 

“You.” She nips at his pulse point. “I want you.”

 

“Me?” Bellamy teases. Her hands wander down his chest, toying with the buttons on his shirt. “You’re not too tired from the party? Can’t believe you planned all that yourself, babe. You’re so good to me.”

 

“Not too tired.” Her hands wander lower, cupping his half-hard cock through his slacks. “Fuck me? Please?”

 

Bellamy fits his hand around the base of her neck, tilting her head up so he can look down at her. “Ask me again,” he says, his eyes dark. 

 

Clarke looks up at him through her lashes, biting down on her lower lip. His cock twitches in her grip. “Please fuck me, daddy.” 

 

He inhales sharply, his fingers spasming against her neck. She slides around him until her generous breasts are pressed up against his chest, shamelessly rolling her hips forward. 

 

“Is that what you want?” Bellamy murmurs. “You want daddy to take care of you? You want my cock?”

 

“Yes,” Clarke whispers as she sinks to her knees. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I need you.”

 

“How do you need me?”

 

“Like this,” she says, unbuttoning his slacks and pulling down the zipper. Bellamy swats her hands away.

 

“Use your words,” he commands. She clenches her thighs together.

 

“I need your cock inside me,” she tells him, looking up at him with her eyes wide. “In my mouth, in my pussy. In my ass. Anyway you like, just  _ please _ , give it to me, daddy.”

 

“Alright, sweet girl,” Bellamy says, smoothing her hair back from her face and cupping her cheek. “Since you asked nicely.” 

 

He shoves his pants a few inches down his thighs and frees his cock, all hard and thick with a small bead of precum glistening at the tip. Clarke’s mouth waters, aching to feel him stretch out her throat, to make her gag. 

 

“Suck daddy’s cock, baby.”

 

Clarke lets out a breathy sigh of relief, dipping her head forward so that her lips brush over his shaft. She breathes in the heady, musky scent of him as she peppers soft kisses all the way down to the base, then licks a hard stripe up his length. Bellamy’s approving moan sends a bolt of arousal straight to her clit and she rocks forward, desperate for the friction the seam of her jeans provides. 

 

She takes the head of his cock into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks around it and giving it a firm suck that has Bellamy thrusting a little further into her mouth. She tightens her fist around the base, holding him firmly while her tongue teases his frenulum. He groans, a deep, gravelly sound that sends a stripe of heat up her spine. When she finally releases him, he gives her a second to breathe before grasping her chin with a firm hand and forcing her mouth wide open.

 

“Take me,” he tells her. “All the way.”

 

Clarke relaxes her throat, resisting the urge to gag around him as he feeds her his gorgeous cock. He doesn’t stop until her nose is brushing the curls of his pubic hair, until the head of his cock hits the back of her throat. She can’t help the strangled noise that escapes her, a broken gag that causes her throat to spasm and tighten around him. His hand fists in her hair, holding her in place. His other hand wipes at her watery eyes as he praises her for taking all of him, for treating daddy’s cock so nice. 

 

When he comes, she keeps her tongue flat and still so every drop can pool in her mouth, and she shows it to him proudly. 

 

“Good girl,” Bellamy murmurs fondly. He kneels down and swipes his tongue into her mouth, tasting his own cum. He lets her swallow when he does. “Now get up here.”

 

Clarke lets him pull her to her feet, twisting and stepping out of her clothes as he pries them off of her body. Once she is completely bared to him, he pushes her down onto the couch and wrenches her legs apart, kneeling on the floor between them. There is a slight squelching sound as her thighs, sticky with her arousal, separate. Bellamy growls at the sight of her exposed cunt, flushed red and swollen, shiny with her juices. His cheeks ache at the thought of getting to taste her.  

 

Clarke reaches forward and runs her fingers along his jawline, relishing in the coarse tickle of his beard. He tilts his head and kisses her fingertips. 

 

“You smell so good, baby,” he says, dragging his stubbly chin along the inside of her thighs, inhaling deeply. “Whose pussy is this?”

 

“Yours, daddy,” Clarke says obediently. He uses his thumbs to spread her cunt open, his eyes darkening when it clenches down on nothing, releasing some more of her shiny arousal. 

 

“And what is daddy going to do with his pussy? How is he going to make you feel?”

 

“He’s going to lick it,” Clarke breathes, “and make me feel so good.”

 

Bellamy presses a soft kiss to her throbbing clit. “That’s right.” He flattens his tongue against her opening and gives her a slow, savory lick, moaning when her juices reach his tastebuds. She is familiar, tangy and earthy with an underlying hint of sweetness that makes his toes curl. 

 

Her responding whine is rewarded with a hard suck on her clit, making her breath hitch and her fingers wind themselves into his thick curls. He licks into her like he would her mouth: dominant and demanding, but with a tenderness that makes her heart skip a beat. It’s sloppy and dirty as he works her up to her first orgasm, filling the air with their moans and the wet smacking sounds he makes on her cunt. 

 

When she comes the first time, it’s with his tongue in her cunt, his thumb on her clit, and his stubble scraping against the insides of her thighs. He barely gives her a second to recover before his mouth is on her again, abusing her clit with harsh, demanding swipes of his tongue that has her trying to pull his head impossibly closer. 

 

“More,” she begs, her voice already starting to get hoarse from her constant moans. “Your fingers, I need your fingers.”

 

Bellamy hums, bringing two fingers to her opening and letting her wetness coat them. Once they’re shiny with her arousal, he slips them inside her cunt, curling them upwards to find her g-spot with practiced ease. 

 

“ _ Yes _ , daddy,” Clarke groans. She plants her feet on the couch cushions, using the leverage to cant her hips and chase his touch. A bead of sweat drips off her temple, running down the length of her neck. She can feel the heat building deep in her core, a rubber band ready to snap. 

 

He traps her swollen bud gently between his teeth and gives it a strong suck, his fingers not letting up inside of her. The pressure on her clit is too much, and them dam inside her breaks. Clarke’s orgasm hits her like a rogue wave at the beach, knocking the wind out from her lungs and twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up anymore. 

 

“That’s it, baby,” Bellamy praises her softly, the flat of his hand smoothing over her pussy, giving her just enough friction to get through her orgasm without overstimulating her. “You’re such a good girl. Do you like coming for daddy?”

 

“Yes,” she whimpers. Her body is still loose, but not quite sated. Her now-empty cunt clenches down on nothing, desperate to be filled again. She can feel her cum drip down between her ass cheeks, notices the way Bellamy’s eyes darken as he watches it. 

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, I like coming for you, daddy.” Clarke sits up, her hands gripping his broad shoulders as she pulls him up to crowd over her. “I want more. Please give me more.”

 

“Come here.” Bellamy scoops her into his arms and switches their positions in one fluid motion. He places her on his lap, her knees bracketing his thighs, and teasingly rubs the head of his cock over her slick opening. “You want to come again?”

 

“ _ Please _ .” His strong hands on her hips guide her as she sinks down onto him. Clarke’s eyes flutter shut and her mouth drops open as his cock stretches her out, hot and thick and  _ fuck _ , it’s like he gets bigger every time. Her toes curl when he bottoms out, the head of his cock nudging her cervix, and the pressure alone nearly sends her over the edge right there.

 

“Yeah, I’ll make you come,” he growls, his fingers digging into the flesh of her waist. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby, I love it when you come around me.”

 

Clarke whines in response, the ability to form words already evading her as she starts to move. 

 

“That’s right, bounce on it.  _ Fuck _ .” His hands come up to cup her tits, his calloused fingers plucking at her nipples as she rides him. “You look so perfect right now, baby.” 

 

All she can do is hang on, a new high-pitched whine escaping her every time she bears down on him. Clarke loves sex in all its forms, but the feeling of Bellamy’s cock inside of her is unparalleled. It’s all she wants, all the fucking time, and- the smug bastard he is- he knows it. 

 

“Hold on,” he says, winding and arm around her waist and rising to his feet once more. Clarke clutches at his shoulders as he spins them around, pressing her into the corner between the back and arm of the couch. He rests one knee on the cushions and she hooks both legs around his hips, pulling him closer. 

 

“Give it to me, daddy.” Clarke tilts her chin up and Bellamy captures her lips in a searing kiss. He pulls back just enough to look her in the eye as he presses inside her again. 

 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby,” he growls. “God, I love you. Wanna marry you, Clarke, you know that? Can’t live without you, sweet girl. You’re fucking everything to me.”

 

She gasps as he fucks into her harder, each thrust stealing the breath from her throat. She nods frantically at his words, a confession she already knows to be true but that doesn’t stop the tears from blurring her vision anyway. 

 

“I’m gonna come,” Clarke squeaks, clutching him tighter. He presses their foreheads together, their lips barely touching as they pant into each other’s mouths, sharing the same breath as he pushes her over the edge. 

 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming!  _ Oh God _ , Bellamy,  _ yes _ !” Her nails dig into the skin above his shoulder blades. The sharp pain coupled with the tight pulsing of her cunt triggers Bellamy’s own orgasm, and his spills inside of her as she chants his name. 

 

“I love you,” she whimpers. He presses a kiss to sweaty forehead, her shaky breaths tickling the skin of his throat. “I love you so much.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Bellamy pulls out of her, situating himself in the big spoon position behind her. The couch isn’t exactly built for two people to lay side by side, but with the way Clarke practically glues herself to his body, they make it work. He runs his hands through her hair until they breathing returns to normal.

 

“Did you just propose during sex?” Clarke asks a few minutes, tilting her head to peer up at him with a smirk. 

 

“Don’t tell me it came as a surprise,” Bellamy laughs. 

 

“No, it didn’t.” Clarke presses a kiss to his sternum and nuzzles her head against his chest. 

 

“Does that mean you’re saying yes?” He tightens his arms around her, already knowing her answer. 

 

“It sure does.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me about bob's beard on [tumblr!](http://bilexualclarke.tumblr.com/)


End file.
